


Laughing Through Leather

by ButtersMeUp



Series: Shots & Charades [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Batjokes, Bottoming from the Top, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Light Bondage, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-10-02 15:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10221116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButtersMeUp/pseuds/ButtersMeUp
Summary: He kicked out at one leather cuff in frustration. The Batman could have at least left him with something fun to do. A television? A guard to irritate? Even some poison gas would be welcome at this point, if only as an incentive to break free from his restraints.His nose twitched.Then suddenly, instead of the reek of poison gas, he smelt the sweet stench of Omega."B-Batsy?"





	1. Chapter 1

Joker awoke to immediate and inescapable panic when his wrist met the thick leather of his restraints.

His breathing quickened, coming in short and fast as his pupils shrank to bewildered slits, and he jerked against the bindings. With a huff of frustration, he kicked out with his legs, only to find his ankles also secured to whatever he was laying on.

He dug his elbow into it. A table. Smooth, cold and, if the sound it made when he thumped it was any indication, made of metal. He thrashed within the cuffs for a few moments, letting out a few vexed grunts, before coming to a panting rest.

He couldn’t see anything, and while his first thought was that his panic was somehow short-circuiting his vision, his hope was short-lived. He lay still on the counter, slowing his breathing and closing his eyes. The chill of the table seeped into his skin, biting into his own fevered warmth. But when he opened his eyes again, there was still nothing, just an endless blackness up above him. He felt his heartbeat rise again, dreading what that might mean—

Then he noticed the glare, a beam of light striking up across his vision – reflected on glass. The ceiling was _glass_. He turned his head, taking in the gleaming walls and the large, unshuttered lamps surrounding him. They blinded him from all sides, causing the scenery behind them to melt back into inky darkness.

The floor was white tile, and there was a small table with some medical instruments sitting in the corner, as far away from the Joker as possible. He couldn’t see a doorway at all. Maybe it was behind him?

He flared his nostrils, but there was nothing but the stink of disinfectant, as if someone had upended a bottle of it to mask something foul – like a poor man’s deodoriser.

The Joker licked his lips, felt them crack and sting. How long had he been lying here, strapped to a table in a glass box with no air? He tested his restraints again, inspecting them for any warps or weaknesses. Nothing. They were fairly well-used, the leather malleable, but they fit like a glove, pressing snugly against the bones of his hand and wrist.

He was just debating the pros and cons of dislocating said hands when a sound like a piston went off and a broad, dark shadow seemed to dim the lights within the room. And with it floated that unmistakable scent, the one that got beneath skin on the Gotham streets and warred with his own. The Alpha.

The Bat.

“Batsy, is that you?” he crooned, craning his neck to try and get a better look. Met with silence, he rattled the cuff around his wrist again experimentally. “This a new toy? Didn’t think _brown_ leather was your style, exactly.”

There was the measured step of a heavy boot, and Joker heard the familiar whisper of the Batman’s cape as it breezed across the tile. He came to a stop behind his head, so that if Joker twisted his neck he could just barely catch him in his peripheral vision. Joker breathed in deep, enjoying the chance to savour the proximity, but the Bat’s expression remained blank, the soulless white eyeholes regarding Joker with little more than detached curiosity.

The lack of a reaction was disconcerting, to say the least. But he could work with curiosity, maybe.

“Enjoying the view, B-man?” he tried, fluttering his lashes. “I mean, I’m all for satisfying your _kinks_ but… the rest of this performance so far is rather _lacking_.”

“Do you remember how you got here?” the Bat finally murmured, and his voice seemed deeper than normal, deliberately so.

Joker made a show of racking his brains, but realised almost instantly that the information was gone. “Let me guess, you carried me bridal-style from a raging inferno, my limp body hanging elegantly in your strong ar—“

“I did.”

The Joker fell silent, caught off guard. He licked his lips, his mouth feeling suddenly quite dry. “Y-you did?”

The Batman sidled around the table, his cape billowing and making the shadows flicker across the clown’s face. His eyes were trained on the Joker’s (or at least, he assumed they were beneath the cowl), and the longer they stared, the more Joker felt his skin start to crawl.

“And why would you go and do a thing like that?” he asked, wincing internally at the lack of theatre in his voice.

The Bat’s head turned infinitesimally, his lips parting. “…You were angry at Harley.”

Joker’s eyes narrowed. The Bat continued.

“The two of you were fighting at your clubhouse.” He turned away, pacing down the length of the table. “Either you finally tested her one time too many or you lost your patience earlier than usual.” He circled Joker’s feet. “There was an explosion. By the time I got there the whole casino was up in flames.”

Joker narrowed his eyes, thinking back to the last thing he remembered. There was a flash of Harley, but her face might as well have been a blank canvas for all he could remember of its expression.

The Batman came to a rest on Joker’s other side, crossing his arms disapprovingly. “You nearly took out half the docks. Where will you and your friends live if you lovebirds trash the nest?”

But the Joker’s cogs were already turning. He sneered, gnashing his teeth. “Batsy, this isn’t like you!” He smiled. “Lying to me? As if I’d be as _insane_ as to deface my own home! And dragging poor Harley into it?” His eyes dropped down to his chest, and he growled: “She wouldn’t _dare_ …”

The Bat’s brow rose, stretching the fabric covering it. He regarded the Joker in silence.

The Joker grit his teeth, seething. “I mean,” he prodded, “You know _me_. It’s not like me to forget a night of fireworks, after all. They’d be rather _burned_ into my memory.”

“It’s amazing what a concussion will do for you, Joker,” drawled the Bat, but his voice shook slightly. “I found you lying against a tank of propane with your head split open.” He leaned in a little bit, his voice lowering. “You’re lucky there was anything there for me to find.”

The Joker swallowed back the growl of frustration that wanted to escape him, and instead resorted to flexing against his restraints again, the leather burning at his wrists.

The Batman’s story was suspect at best. He felt sluggish, but there were no burns on his body; of what he could see of his suit, it didn’t look too much worse for wear than usual; and he’d come to distrust stories spun to him regarding the events of a blackout, thanks to his many visits to Arkham. And that wasn’t even to mention the holes in the Batman’s story. Speaking of…

“And what, my dearest, became of Harley?”

He watched the man’s face for any twitch, any discerning spasm that might betray him, but the Batman’s expression remained stony and hooded – a void.

“Couldn’t find her. Maybe she finally dumped you.”

Joker’s skin boiled at that, and he bared his teeth in a wide grin. “You’re really full of it tonight, Bats!” he cried, patience finally evaporating. “You could have flown me back here on a magic carpet for all I care! Did you _really_ go to all the trouble of tying me up here just so you could needle me about Harley? Where’s _your_ little tit? The Boy Blunder!”

The Batman ignored him, sweeping from the cubicle without saying a word.

\---

Bruce didn’t stop until he was back in the manor, his chest heaving with every step. It had come on so suddenly, that wobbly feeling in his legs, the feverish heat beneath his skin. One minute he’d been toying with the Joker, poking at him just enough to finally set his teeth on edge, and then that horrible heaviness had dug its claws into his stomach and he’d had to leave.

He was in heat.

Once in his bedroom, he threw off his cowl, feeling the sweat beading on his brow already. He hurriedly peeled at the skin of the Batsuit, relishing the feeling of the cold night air on his flesh as it breezed through the open window.

He was almost naked, standing in the middle of the room in nothing but his underwear, but he felt like a furnace.

This wasn’t the right time. He’d had his hormonal injection less than six weeks ago. He should have been directly in the middle of a cycle of Alpha hormones but here he was sweating and shivering like a fevered animal.

Alfred’s warning floated at the back of his mind, that little voice that said that maybe the injections wouldn’t be enough. Maybe you could only change your body’s chemistry so much before it fought back or malfunctioned. But no, he couldn’t accept that. If he started believing that then he could kiss goodbye to Batman altogether. What kind of vigilante would he be if he rolled over with his legs spread as soon as he smelt an Alpha at the wrong time? No, it had to have been a bad batch. He’d be inspecting Lucius’ channels more carefully from here on out.

But that didn’t help him much now.

He was alone, with Alfred taking a rare vacation and Tim and Dick fighting crime outside of Gotham for the foreseeable. Alone, with the Joker tied to a table in his basement.

The Joker.

He hoped to god the monster hadn’t smelt it on him before he rushed out of the room. He knew the man was an Alpha – couldn’t have missed it after all the run-ins they’d had. It was almost bizarre, imagining the pale, green-haired villain possessing any kind of real sexual desire, despite all the flirting the man usually subjected him to. He supposed facing him as a fellow Alpha, even if he was just pretending, had levelled their playing field somewhat.

And he must have kept Harley around somehow. She was flighty, for a beta.

For a few moments, the heat beneath his skin abated, and a chill ran through Bruce as the wind gusted through the room. But then he felt it.

Suddenly and without fanfare, he felt the warm, wet trickle of slick running down his thigh. He groaned at the sensation, disgusted even as his limbs turned to jelly. It was as if the full force of his hormones came down on him all at once, and then all he could think of was the _need_.

Even with the heaviness settled deep within his belly, even with his mind fighting to remain clear, he was consumed by hunger. He felt empty, swollen – he needed to be filled.

He moved a hand down to his underwear, feeling the soaked fabric, and let out a moan of frustration.

He knew what he needed to do. He needed to lock himself in this room and pull out the modest box of toys that he’d purchased long ago. They hadn’t seen that much use – he’d usually managed to time his injections so well that he’d only gone through a heat a small number of times. He could probably count them on two hands.

It was never enough.

Spending a night with an unthreatening Beta might have staved off the itch between heats occasionally, but it never filled him with that truly satiated feeling that he’d heard about on the late-night talk shows as a kid.

But it would _have_ to do.

As he reached under the bed for the lockbox, however, he felt a chill run up his spine. There was an Alpha in his house. Just lying there. No one else. No one else would _know_ …

He couldn’t. If he went down as the Bat then he’d never be able to don the mask ever again. Word would spread.

But if he went as Bruce Wayne it would be even worse.

And this was the Joker! He shook his head and clasped the cool, metal box with his fingers. He swung it up onto the bed, already feeling the wetness in his underwear begin to pool. This was the right choice, he reminded himself, as his fingers popped open the latch.

He felt an odd mixture of desire and disgust as he laid eyes on the toys. A few different sizes, a couple of different shapes. Even as he wrapped his fingers around one particularly large one he felt his stomach turn over with shame. His hands shook.

He looked back at the door. He ached.

And then he stood, snatching up his cowl from the floor.

\---

The Joker wasn’t sure how long he’d been laying there since the Batman disappeared. Time moved strangely (or didn’t move at all) within the brightly lit box that was his cage. He’d given up on rattling the cuffs – they just made his wrists burn.

He wouldn’t even mind being left there so much, if he wasn’t beginning to grow hungry.

And bored. He’d scarcely been more bored in his life.

He kicked out with one cuff in frustration. The Batman could have at least left him with something fun to do. A television? A guard to irritate? Even some poison gas would be welcome at this point, if only as an incentive to break free from his restraints.

His nose twitched.

Then suddenly, instead of the reek of poison gas, he smelt the sweet stench of Omega.

He gasped, nostrils flaring and breathing in the sickly scent uncontrollably. It filled his senses immediately, making his fingers curl and his skin tingle, and he was acutely aware of the heat pooling in his groin.

He twisted from side to side, trying to find the origin of the stink, but still all he could see was the bright lights surrounding him, sickly green spots breaking out in his vision as he stared into them.

Was this why the Bat had tied him up? To send some heated little thing down to test him? To test _what_ , even? That he had a libido? That didn’t feel like something the Bat would do. Of all the different forms of torture that had flitted across the Joker’s thoughts, this one was so unbelievably unlikely that he hadn’t even thought to consider it.

The scent was growing stronger, approaching at a steady pace, and the Joker’s heart beat faster. He thought it might slam out of his chest when he heard the mechanical door slide open.

The room was silent. Joker held his breath, if only to stave off the full force of the heated Omega’s pheromones. And then the culprit stepped into view.

“B- _Bats_?”

The Joker’s jaw went slack, his eyes open wide in shock. The man before him was undeniably the Batman. Complete with grey bodysuit, his cape draping down towards the floor. Same jawline, same thin lips…

This made no sense.

He’d gotten up close and personal with the man on almost a nightly basis for years now, and the Bat had never once smelled like this. He usually reeked of Alpha, backing it up with a hard body and even harder punches.

This was a trick.

It had to be a trick.

Joker gulped when the Batman circled the table, coming to rest halfway down. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes beneath the cowl, but below it his expression was closed and unreadable once again. His gaze passed up and down the Joker’s body, making him squirm with discomfort, and then he was reaching up and thumbing open the buttons of Joker’s trousers.

An embarrassing squeak escaped him at the feeling of rough gloves brushing his groin, his half-hard cock twitching. The smell of Omega slick filled his nostrils, making his whole body shake with anticipation even as his mind worked in overdrive to try and find a way out of this mess. There was something incredibly wrong with his Bat, and he would much prefer to experience it from a safe distance.

But all thoughts of escape blanked from the Joker’s mind when a coarse glove wrapped around him and the Batman swooped down over his cock.

He gasped at the feeling of wet lips sliding over the head, sinking down low to encompass him fully before rising slowly, excruciatingly back up, and drawing a deep moan from the Joker’s own mouth.

Then the lips parted, allowing cool air to whip at his reddened skin. The man flattened his tongue against Joker’s length, licking up the veined underside in one long sweep, and Joker had to fight to keep his hips under control. A flick of the tongue to his tip made him gasp, and then the Bat was plunging down once again. This time, the Joker couldn’t stop his hips from rising, following the Bat’s mouth needily as the man pulled away.

“D-don’t tease me,” he rasped, eyes focused doggedly on the ceiling.

The Batman stopped, seeming to consider him for a moment. Joker didn’t dare glance down to check. His skin was crawling. Despite all his usual taunting and posturing, he was an Alpha, all the way down to his core. He was the dominator, and if ever he’d been given the (rare, slim) opportunity to sink his teeth into the Batman, _he_ was going to be in control. He’d known that with certainty.

There was no control here.

The Batman shifted, trailing his fingers along the line of Joker’s hip. The clown’s eyelids fluttered, and the thick scent of Omega seemed to intensify around him. His cock strained, desperate to sink into something soft and wet and warm.

Then, suddenly, the Batman was pulling himself up onto the table.

The Joker’s eyes bugged, his head flying up off the table to watch the man. The Bat’s cape was gone, having slid away to the floor already, and the Joker could see that the lower part of his Batsuit had been pushed down over his ass, pulling the fabric taught.

The Batman also wasn’t wearing any _shoes_.

A whimper of laughter fell from the Joker’s lips, and he let his head fall back onto the cold table. He’d never thought the sight of the Bat barefoot could look so funny, but without them he just looked… unravelled. Incomplete.

He froze when the gloves touched him again, running gently up the sides of his throbbing cock. He looked down again, a ragged breath escaping at the sight of the Bat hovering over him despite himself. The Bat’s cock had sprung free from the confines of the suit, and Joker could see tiny droplets beading at the head with anticipation. The Bat paused, pulling something from his glove, and Joker laughed out loud at the sight of it.

A condom! The Joker’s chest rattled with quiet, disbelieving laughter as the Bat slowly and methodically unpackaged the tiny slip of rubber, rolling it down over the clown’s shaft. Even that tiny bit of friction had him tensing, overwhelmed by the smell of Omega in his head.

The feel of a steadying hand wrapping around him drew the Joker’s attention again. The Bat was poised above him, his lips slightly parted, breathing heavily.

The white eyes of the cowl seemed to somehow focus in on his own, and then the Batman was sinking down onto the Joker’s cock.

A raw, wordless groan escaped the Joker as he watched the Bat slide down, his slick, wet entrance taking him in without any need for preparation. Despite this, the man’s progress was almost painfully slow, as if he were savouring the feeling of being penetrated.  

Meanwhile, Joker was in another world. Every inch of flesh closing in around his cock was like a vice slipping down over him, squeezing so hard he might as well have had a pair of hands locked around his neck, cutting off his air. Surrounded on all sides by the demanding stink of Omega, he could think of little more than the Bat clenching around him, swallowing him piece by piece. He wanted desperately to thrust upwards, to split the man in two before he was ripped apart by his own frustration, but the strong grip holding his hips down onto the table rendered him helpless.

He tried in vain to focus on something, anything but the excruciating pleasure, and in doing so his eyes caught sight of the other man’s face. It was an expression the Joker had never seen before, the Batman’s cowl-covered brow clenched in some horrific mix of pain, shame and pleasure. His white eyes had been reduced to slits, staring off into the dark somewhere over the Joker’s head as if he wanted to pretend he were anywhere else.

But then the Bat sank down fully on the Joker, and the low, breathy grunt of relief that escaped him had the Joker’s skin prickling in an altogether new way. His own breathing rattled as he felt the Bat’s ass push down into his hips, felt his tip reach up into uncharted territory, the Batman’s walls impossibly tight around him for how easy the process had been so far.

They were still for a moment, breathing in unison as the Bat stared down at the Joker’s stomach and the Joker stared at the Bat. He felt that he should say something, regain control of the situation somehow – laugh at how ludicrous they were being, even – but then the Batman was digging his knees into the table, and any will to speak was drawn out of the clown in one fluid movement.

The Bat had risen to his full height again, the tip of the Joker’s cock just barely exposed to the cold air of the glass room, when he decided to slam back down, his pale eyes never leaving the Joker’s face as he did so. The clown tried, really, to keep his face free of anything out of the ordinary, but the feeling of being sheathed to the hilt again forced a broken moan from his lips before he could stop it, and his eyes and head rolled back, landing with a _thunk_ on the table. 

As the Bat settled into a jerking rhythm, the Joker pulled at his restraints; his knee bending, his wrists pulling against the leather straps and his white hands balling into fists. He grit his teeth and used the restraints as an anchor, thrusting upwards into the man above him. His eyes flew wide in surprise when he heard a choked moan tumble from the Bat’s lips.

He craned his neck up off the table, but the vigilante’s eyes didn’t meet his own – they were focused on the glass ceiling. The Bat was leaning back, his head tipped backwards and his hands behind him, gripping the Joker’s legs. His pace was more frantic now, drawing himself up and slamming back down onto the Joker with an unhinged kind of force. Unable to help himself, the Joker’s gaze travelled down. The Bat’s cock was heavy, bouncing up and down with each thrust but as if it were fighting gravity every time. It was leaking furiously now, a wet trail glistening down the length of the man’s flushed skin to meet the slick pool of fluid spilling from his ass every time the Joker’s cock sank into it.

The clown allowed his head to fall back onto the table once more, unable to hold the position while thrusting up into the vigilante on top of him. The Bat was riding him violently now, his movements almost fluid if it weren’t for the occasional shudder of pleasure interrupting them. The Joker could feel his release building inside him, and from the other man’s trembling, he had to be close as well.

He wanted more.

“Untie me,” the Joker gasped, and the sound of his own voice surprised him somewhat. It was raw and raspy, a far cry from his usual clarity.

The Batman didn’t pause, but he did see the man’s face turn towards his, the white eyes of the cowl peering at him.

“Untie me, please,” the Joker continued, desperate. “Even just the wrists. This is…”

 _Torture_.

But the Bat’s stare was blank, unhearing, his mind too far away and lost in pleasure. He slammed down upon the Joker’s cock once, twice, and on the third, spilled himself all over the Joker’s once-immaculate purple suit. The Joker followed, throwing his head back once more as the waves of pleasure looped through him, leaving him boneless and spent on the metal table.

They remained there, panting in unison, and Joker peeked an eye open in time to see the Batman swaying from side to side above him, eyes half-lidded. It had been a very long while since Joker had last tumbled with an Omega (a hazy memory, perhaps from before…?), and he’d almost forgotten how orgasms seemed to devastate them, like a tornado does a farmhouse.

“Don’t you fall asleep there, Batsy. I have a feeling you’ll be a mite upset with me if I let you.”

The Batman blinked awake, white eyes catching on his for a second longer than either of them meant for them to. All at once, the weight was lifted from his body, the Bat dislodging himself, sliding off the table almost-gracefully. Joker suppressed a chuckle as he watched the vigilante peel the condom off Joker’s cock, dabbing away some of the excess come from him and his clothes with a cloth he procured from his belt.

“Is there anything you _don’t_ keep in there?”

The Bat glanced at him, crumpling the soiled cloth into his fist. “…Dignity.”

The Joker blinked at the man before him, before his mouth cracked into a wide grin. “Have you ever considered teaming up with me, Bats? That line wasn’t half bad!”

The Bat said nothing, and instead swept his cape from the floor and swung it gracefully back around his shoulders. Joker was still chuckling when he realised the man was making for the door.

“Wait!”

The Batman paused just behind Joker’s head, peering down at him over his shoulder.

“Y-you’re not just going to leave me here, right?” the clown pressed, smile turning nervous despite himself. "Why have you even brought me here, anyway?”

The vigilante regarded him for all of two seconds before sweeping past him.

“Bats? Batsy!”

But his voice was lost in the sound of the automatic door opening and closing behind the Bat, and Joker was left in silence.

“Heh. Figures.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help me I keep writing porn. 
> 
> I thought about adding plot but this had been sitting on my hard drive for too long already. Hope you like!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Dubcon, slightly gruesome self-doctoring, and Joker making brief pedophilia/bestiality jokes.

What was he _doing_?

Bruce slammed back into his bedroom like a drunken animal. He raked his fingers down his face, his heart hammering in his chest.

He’d gone down there. He’d actually gone down there and… and _what_?

He pressed his lips together tightly, feeling them go bloodless and sore between his chattering teeth. He’d gone down there and let the… the _Joker_ touch him. No, that was a lie. He’d _touched the Joker_. Voluntarily. Technically without even getting his consent.

What the ever-loving _fuck_ was he doing?

He sat down on the bed, so lost in his thoughts that he only dimly felt the tenderness spreading throughout his pelvic area. It was a deep, satisfying throb, reaching throughout his insides and both protesting the abuse from before and simultaneously aching to feel it again. Bruce let out a deep, deep sigh, his face still cradled in his gloved hands.

He then abruptly remembered what he’d just been _touching_ with those gloves and recoiled, quickly yanking them off to fall on the carpet.

“Jesus Christ…” he murmured, staring down at the crumpled things lying like something dead on the floor. They were empty and spent, and that wasn’t a far cry from how Bruce was feeling right at this moment. Maybe add a dash of humiliation.

The fucking _Joker_. He couldn’t erase the image of the… man lying there on the table: bound, rumpled and… begging? Bruce grimaced. He hadn’t imagined that. Sure, the clown had ostensibly just been asking to be let free, but Bruce would have to be blind not to notice the quality of his voice, his stare.

…And the smell.

He breathed in reflexively. He could still detect it, just barely. It wasn’t new exactly; he’d smelled Alphas on the prowl before (it was hard not to on the dark streets of Gotham in the early hours), but never had it seemed so… alluring.

He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat and stood up. He needed to shower; to get that stench out of his nose before he…

Before he did something even more stupid.

He crossed over to the bathroom, peeling off his suit as he went.

\---

Joker grit his teeth, testing the leather bonds with yet another grumpy flick of his wrist.

It wasn’t even that he’d been left here to stew on the table again. It was more that the big scary Bat that had come in here to ravish him or whatever had forgotten to… tuck him in so to speak.

And it was cold in the glass cubicle.

He bit back another shiver, his flaccid cock stirring slightly where it rested on his (now-stained) purple dress jacket.

He let out a huff and worked his lips together in frustration. Just perfect.

And _god_ he needed to pee.

“Hey Bats!” he yelled up into the ether. “Does this gig come with a tinkle break?!”

Wait a beat. Maybe one more.

“Batman, come on! Even criminal masterminds have to _syphon the python_ every once in a while!”

There was no response, not even the whirr of a camera or the soft creak of a door. He pulled a face (for the Bat’s benefit, if he was even watching) and rapped his head against the cool metal of the table.

What did the Batman think? That one’s biology politely paused when one fell into a vat of chemicals and became the city’s _numero uno_ _Bandito_? That he had an iron bladder? Didn’t the Batman need to pee ever?

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was more robot than he was man or bat. Mmm, probably not, the Joker mused. More likely he had some awful contraption shoved up his urethra to get him through the night. Joker didn’t envy the role of vigilante if that was the case – he much preferred holding up banks as long as he could take a whizz in the staff bathroom as he did so.

But best not to think about it, he admonished himself, as his bladder flared once again.

He looked down at his restraints again; at the worn leather wrapped snugly around his wrists. He tugged experimentally, slowly testing their give, and released a small giggle of delight when the right cuff pulled away from the skin a little. This was better progress than he’d made earlier. Maybe he’d managed to crack or stretch the leather during their… activity earlier?

Honestly, if the Batman had been sensible and used something stronger – an iron cuff, maybe? – then he’d never have had a chance. Not that he was complaining.

Joker smiled to himself, wider now, and took a deep breath. This next bit was going to hurt. There was a tiny triangle of clear air between skin and leather, only visible once he pulled his arm as far as possible from his body. And managing that after what he was planning to do would be a challenge…

But so would sitting here on this table without a bedpan for much longer.

Joker yanked against the cuff, twisting his wrist so that the bone of his thumb pressed tightly against the leather. Without further ado, he threw all of his strength into the pull, and with a shriek, popped his thumb from its socket. But as the pained noise faded into hysterical laughter, he didn’t let up on the pressure. He continued to pull, until the rest of his hand squeezed through the tight opening, finally sliding through and causing Joker’s back to hit the table from the force.

He howled with laughter, tears springing in his eyes, but didn’t pause to let the pain settle. He reached for his left cuff, pulling the leather strip from its binding with his teeth, and hooking a finger under the buckle to free his wrist. He made quick work of the straps at his feet, and threw himself off the metal table.

Then he dashed out of the cubicle towards the small underground lake, dropped his trousers and let it fly.

His whole body relaxing with a sigh of relief, he dimly noted that the Bat must have forgotten to lock the cubicle behind him after their little encounter earlier. He glanced around the cave, listening to the steady stream of liquid hitting the water in front of him.

He still had that massive coin. And the even more massive T-Rex. Joker’s eyes lit up – his card too! How sweet. He thought he saw a Robin costume on the other side of the cubicle, closer to the large computer console, and gave a sniff of disinterest. _That_ escapade could have gone better.

Once he was finished, he finally ( _finally_ ) tucked himself in and turned away from the water. His thumb was throbbing strongly now, and he clicked his teeth together distractedly as he prodded the joint and made his way over to the cubicle again.

With a bored sigh (and a wince), he pushed the joint back into place. It didn’t take him long to squirrel up a bandage from one of the cabinets in the cell, and once his hand was once again secured, he turned to scan the cave.

Solid rock all around, but there had to be a way out of here. He smiled to himself.

He always liked a challenge.

\---

Bruce was on the other side of the manor, standing in the kitchen in only his underwear in an attempt to cool his fevered skin, when the alarm went off. It sent a chill straight through him.

That was the alarm for the cave: specifically, the hidden door to the staircase that led to the grandfather clock near his father’s old study. Only members of the family knew how not-to trip the alarm, which meant it could only be Joker.

And Bruce wasn’t wearing his mask.

He gripped the cool ceramic of the kitchen counter. He’d needed to get away from the bedroom, from the toys and the suit and… everything related to his current condition. But that left him with either fetching his cowl from the bedroom, or getting down to the cave to find a spare. The bedroom was closer, if barely, but that still meant he had most of the manor to traverse, with no suit and an Alpha on the loose.

Something inside him twitched at the thought, the phantom smell rising in his nostrils, and he pushed it down with a low groan of frustration.

He’d have to make his move.

Steeling himself, he made for the door.

\---

Joker looked around with wide eyes as he crept down the lavish corridor, taking in the paintings on the walls, the worn grain of the carpet beneath his bare feet.

He’d long since realised that the Bat was wealthy, of course – it would be ludicrous for him to have the kind of equipment he did and not be. But there was something about _this_ kind of wealth – the plush red and gold of the fittings, the dark wood, the sheer _number_ of adornments. It was _opulent_ , and if there was one thing the Batman usually didn’t broadcast, it was opulence.

It was also unbearably _hot._

Joker wiped at the sweat on his brow, but paused as he approached the open window at the end of the hall, and felt a chill breeze rake through him.

That didn’t seem right. He pressed his forehead to the wooden panelling beside him and found it icy to the touch. With a frown, he breathed in deep, and with a flash of recognition realised that it wasn’t the house that was hot at all.

It was him.

The smell of Omega was everywhere but it was also faint, as if it were emanating from elsewhere in the house. Even so, Joker’s trousers were tight, his skin beading with sweat.

He slunk into one of the rooms nearby, pressing his back up against the cool, wooden wall. The windows were tall here, allowing the light from the full moon to stream into the room and destroying much of the cover he might have otherwise taken advantage of. It looked like an office, with a massive mahogany desk sat almost in the middle of it, and most of the walls covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It looked clean, but disused: there was no flurry of papers or scattered pens on the desk as one might expect.

But it was the item behind the desk that made even Joker draw in a small intake of breath.

It was a picture. A painting, really: immense and towering on the back wall. It was of a man, a woman, and their child, whose black hair echoed his father’s. The man sat tall and straight, as did his wife, whose dark hair was pulled into neat waves behind her ear. They looked like they came from another time altogether, as if they’d have had dinners with Marilyn and Humphrey and Lucille herself.

And they looked _familiar_. As if Joker had seen them in black and white, years and years and years ago. Before—

There was a creak of a door somewhere close by, and Joker turned his head sharply. All of a sudden, the familiar smell from earlier rose in his nostrils, and heat pooled in his chest and groin. He felt a tug, as if an invisible thread, raw and hot and pulsing, were pulling him towards the object of his interest.

His stomach rolled, his breath quickening. Memories from earlier flickered through him.

He breathed in deeply. The hunt was on.

\---

There was no sound or movement, but Bruce felt the change in the air. He couldn’t have said how, and that made him nervous. It had been so long since he’d spent any meaningful amount of time in heat, and in this moment he much preferred the dull certainty of Alphahood.

He pressed himself against the wall in the hallway, hiding himself in the shadow of a display cabinet.

His body ached. The fever had started to intensify as soon as he left kitchen, creeping up from his toes and making his legs feel weighted and weak all at once. The closer he’d drawn to the source of the overwhelming heat in the air, the worse it had become, and he knew he was wet. He breathed deep and quiet, but rather than calming his nerves as he’d hoped it would, it only served to fill his lungs even further with the scent.

He was almost to the bedroom – he just needed to turn left at the bottom of the hallway and it was six doors away. But he didn’t have a sufficient read on the Joker’s location anymore. The smell of him was distinct, but it enveloped Bruce like a closing hand, directionless and unpredictable. He could have ended up anywhere from Alfred’s room to the kitchen to the front door in the time it had taken Bruce to reach the bedroom. Bruce didn’t feel comfortable with his current nook.

He blew out another steadying breath. He’d have to move. The bedroom was so close – he could make it. He just needed enough time to get into his suit and cowl and then he might have a fighting chance of subduing the intruder.

He hoped.

He grit his teeth, his decision made.

Silently, he pushed away from the wall, and tiptoed down the length of the hallway. He paused at the corner, inching past it enough to glance down each fork of the corridor and finding the coast clear. With yet another breath, he stepped out into the open, and turned left.

He focused on his footfalls, on keeping his balance while his legs threatened to wobble out from under him and minimising the already muffled sound of his bare feet on carpet. But he came to a sudden stop when he found the first doorway he reached had been flung wide open. He distinctly remembered shutting those earlier in the day. And the smell of Alpha was thick here.

Bruce swallowed down the knot in his stomach. It was go time.

He peered around the doorjamb, finding it clear, and when he poked his head through the doorway the rest of the room was similarly empty.

He looked up the hallway, his heart sinking. All the doors here opened inward, so he wouldn’t be able to tell whether they were open or not until he was upon them. Joker could be in any of them.

In his chest, his heart was hammering, and his stomach churned at the smell all around him. Despite standing only in his boxer briefs, his skin was radiating heat, sweat pouring off him in feverish waves. He brushed his palms down the front of his underwear to dry them, and vaguely registered that the fabric was tented beneath his fingertips. He was almost numb, his whole body distantly thrumming with heat.

He set his mouth in a firm line, closing his eyes in an attempt to focus.

The bedroom. His cowl.

Squaring his shoulders, he crept forward down the hallway, peeking into doorways as he passed. Nothing. And he was close now. The smell of Alpha pressed in all around him, but he could see the bedroom door. Was it worth making a rush for it?

Yes, he thought. If he could just get the door shut and push the dresser down to block it, he’d have enough time to get into his suit.

He grit his teeth, tensed his legs, and leaped forward.

He’d just managed to wrap a hand around the bedroom doorway when his feet were pulled out from under him.

Bruce hit the ground with a muffled thump, his chin connecting with the carpet. Dazed, he began to turn, but abruptly hid his face in the carpet again when his captor spoke.

“Batsy, is that you?” the Joker grunted, sounding short of breath. “I didn’t recognise you without your _face_ on!”

Bruce tightened his fingers around the doorjamb. The Joker was pulling at his ankle, reeling him closer with a vice-like grip. His hands seemed to radiate heat, a burning sensation creeping from the clown’s fingertips straight up to Bruce’s groin.

But Bruce tensed, pushing through the almost overwhelming desire to fall to pieces, and kicked out, his unbound foot landing squarely on the clown’s cheek. Bruce heard a surprised grunt escape the other man, and as his grip slackened, Bruce pulled. His leg now free, he dug his toes into the carpet, pulling himself around the doorway and into the bedroom.

But with his head still vibrating with the shock of his landing, he overbalanced, tumbling into the room and falling on the carpet in a heap. He looked up, his vision tunnelling slightly as he saw it. The cowl. Sitting crumpled and misshapen by the bathroom door.

Digging his fingers into the carpet, he pulled himself to his feet, but he only made it a couple of steps before a heavy weight slammed into his back, collapsing onto him.

Bruce didn’t miss a beat. He rammed his elbow into the Joker’s side, feeling a deep thrill of satisfaction at the clown’s pained yelp. He twisted onto his back beneath the other man, covering his face with his arm, and drew his legs up to his chest. With a swift kick, the Joker’s weight was lifted, and Bruce made another break for the dislocated pile that was his suit in the corner.

He didn’t make it.

Inhumanly fast, the Joker was back on his feet, lunging forward to wrap his arms around Bruce’s waist. Without hesitation, the clown twisted, overbalancing them and throwing Bruce to the floor, and within seconds, Bruce was pinned to the carpet on his back.

For a moment, the Joker loomed over him, chest rattling deeply with the force of his breaths. His eyes were wild, his nostrils flared, and as their breath mingled hotly between them Bruce felt the wet, sticky warmth of his heat bubbling up inside him again.

But then the Joker froze, shock pulling his face into an almost unfamiliar landscape as he registered Bruce’s own cowl-less skin. Bruce gaped back at him, desperately pulling a couple of extra breaths as the tension between them lapsed, making room for air to mingle between them. He took in the clown’s parted red lips, the quizzical turn of his brow, the way his green hair stuck out in multiple directions, a far cry from its usually carefully preened state.

Bruce wrenched his arm, trying to dislodge the clown’s grip, but his limbs still felt weak, soft like jelly. The movement seemed to jolt the Joker from his shock, his brows furrowing in consternation.

“Are you…?”

\---

“…Bruce Wayne?” the Joker whispered.

The billionaire paused in his struggling, blue eyes meeting Joker’s own.

But he said nothing, his features settling into the grim determination Joker was used to seeing peek out from under the Batman’s cowl.

Even with his skin prickling with heat and pheromones rolling off his body, Joker couldn’t help turning his head away slightly, half out of reflex and half in protest at the new information.

Looking at the man’s mouth, focusing on it in isolation as if a cowl were still covering the rest, it matched exactly with the thin-lipped visage he went in search of every night. But then his gaze moved upward, and the familiar face was marred by bright blue eyes and shapely eyebrows, a straight, short nose and black hair.

It was… wrong. Not that the man was unattractive, but… Bruce Wayne? Bruce Wayne was the Batman?

And better yet, Bruce Wayne was an Omega? Joker had seen the playboy on TV – he was assertive, confident. He was also a complete idiot, by all appearances. But the head of a company, practically dripping with wealth and women and projecting confidence in every endeavour? An Alpha, no questions asked.

Then again, he’d thought the same about the Batman until a few hours ago.

“Let go of me, Joker.”

And that sealed it. Joker knew that growl anywhere. He blinked down at the man beneath him with undisguised awe. “H-how?”

“Opening your hands might help,” the Bat replied, lips barely moving, and if he hadn’t sounded like he wanted to wring his neck, Joker might have called his tone dry.

A bubble of incredulous laughter escaped him. “You’re a… real _card_ ,” he quipped, but his heart wasn’t in it, his tone sour. And the Batman could tell, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. Joker leaned in closer, trying to take back his advantage. “How have you been _pretending_?”

“Perseverance. And injections.”

Joker’s eyebrows shot up, his lips curling. “And what? You forgot? Doesn’t seem very _you_.”

The Batman visibly ground his teeth. “They stopped _working_ ,” he growled, voice low.

Joker released one of the Bat’s wrists, reaching down experimentally to skate one hand up the larger man’s side. The effect was immediate, muscles jumping beneath his fingertips and the man’s heavy breathing catching around a gasp.

Joker grinned. “Seems to have left you in a spot of bother, Batsy.”

The man, Wayne, let out a harsh sigh, his eyelashes fluttering as he squirmed under Joker’s hands. “You _really_ need to let go of me, Joker,” he tried, but while his voice was steady, the choked thrust of his erection over Joker’s trouser leg was less convincing.

Joker raised himself to a sitting position on the larger man’s chest, legs straddling him. “I didn’t see you respecting _my_ wishes when we had our little rendezvous earlier, B-Man,” he crooned, towering over him.

A multitude of emotions crossed the vigilante’s face as Joker watched in fascination. The way his blue eyes widened and closed again, the angle of his eyebrows and the way his thin lips flattened out into an even thinner line – it was almost worth the strange new additions to the familiar face for the spectacle alone.

“I didn’t… I shouldn’t have…”

“Don’t worry, Batsy. I liked it,” he whispered, sliding his body downwards and dropping in close to the other man’s ear, both hands wrapping firmly around his biceps to keep him in place despite his injury. “But you gotta admit – both of us are in a bit of a _pickle_ here,” he said, punctuating the word with one long slide of their erections and delighting at the sharp gasp it elicited from the Bat.

Curious, he trailed one finger down the man’s cheek, along the tense muscle that was almost jumping out from his corded neck, down, down over the sharp jut of his collarbone and the heaving plane of his pectoral. But when his nail teased ever-so-slightly over the Bat’s hard, pink nipple, the man jerked beneath him as if he’d been electrified, and Joker felt his world tipping.

He landed on the carpet with a grunt, a well-muscled arm bearing down on his chest, and all at once the man was covering him. The Bat may be an Omega, but he still had Joker beat in the size department, and the weight of him crushing down on the clown was at once familiar and thrilling.

“ _Puh_ -problem, Batsy?” he managed, the air knocked from his chest.

The Bat was breathing heavily himself, leaning off to the side as if he were desperately trying to locate fresher air. The stuff between them was musky and thick, a mix of heated breaths and cloying hormones.

Joker’s erection was straining at his trousers, and when he took advantage of the space now opened up between them to glance down at the Bat, he could see the vigilante’s cock clear as day, flushed and pink skin straining through the weave of his underwear.

If he were an honourable man, he might grant the man above him a chance to collect himself, but he instead felt a sly smile slip across his face. Joker couldn’t help reaching down to gently run a finger down the underside of the Bat’s cock, skin sliding easily over the tented fabric.

The Bat’s breath rattled, and his head lowered until it was almost resting against the Joker’s collarbone.

“Happy to offer my services, Bats,” he crooned, his other hand rising to tickle along the nape of the man’s neck.

“…Condom.” The word was grunted into his chest after a few moments of tense silence. Joker made a questioning noise that skated close to becoming a disbelieving laugh. “Only if you wear a condom,” Wayne repeated, his head turning to free his mouth from Joker’s jacket.

Joker did laugh then, a wheezy, high-pitched thing, his hands coming up to squeeze at the Bat’s shoulders. “I-if-if that’s what you’re worried about, s-s-sure!” he managed to gasp through his laughter. “And people say _I’m_ ridiculous!”

The Bat made a vague sound of discontentment, but allowed Joker to roll them over again. Once he was atop the Bat, however, he withdrew, pushing himself up to standing and allowing the vigilante to do the same. The Bat rolled into action, as expected, making his way over to the bed and rummaging around in a side table for what Joker assumed were the aforementioned condoms. Joker remained where he was, drinking in the sight of the man’s muscles as they stretched and bent to accommodate his movements.

In the absence of a fight or the hunt, his dislocated thumb was beginning to make itself known again, but he pushed the ache aside. He’d have plenty to keep his mind off it for the foreseeable.

Finding what he was looking for, the Bat turned around, and they stood stock still for a moment, staring at each other. Wayne was a dishevelled mess, his hair sticking out every which way and his body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. Joker imagined he didn’t look much more put together, his suit rumpled and his hand wrapped in bandages.

The Bat’s eyes darted to bed, and Joker smiled widely. He nodded to the plush sheets, red and opulent as the rest of this damn house. “Go ahead,” he murmured, a dark chuckle snaking its way beneath the words.

\---

Bruce hesitated, the roll of condoms still held slack between his fingertips. Joker was watching him with a dead kind of calm, his eyes half-lidded and his breathing unrushed. He felt like a fawn caught up in the sights of a mountain lion, lazy and assured of its kill.

And he’d brought this on himself. Keeping the clown here had been a mistake in the first place, and he’d been nothing but careless ever since.

He was snapped from his thoughts by the Joker shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking ostensibly as if he were about to pounce if Bruce didn’t hurry the hell up.

So he drew in a breath, and climbed slowly onto the bed. He didn’t quite make eye contact with the Joker as he did so, the condoms grasped firmly in his fist as if he were afraid they’d vanish if he dropped them. He settled back against the pillows, his heels jammed into the bed just enough that he could push himself away if the Joker sprang at him too quickly.

But the clown was still uncharacteristically calm. He flashed his teeth and shrugged out of his jacket, picking apart the buttons of his shirt with one hand. Bruce’s eyes travelled to the other hand, wrapped inexpertly in bandages. He must’ve wrenched it trying to escape, but still, it shouldn’t have been so easy. He ground his teeth, starting to berate himself all over again, but then the Joker was shucking off his trousers and Bruce’s mind crackled with noise.

Joker’s erection was pale and proud, jutting out from a thatch of dark green hair. At the sight of it, the suffocating stench of their mingling hormones that he’d half managed to shake off reared its head again, and Bruce felt his thighs tremble with the force of his body’s answering shiver.

Joker was grinning again as he sauntered towards the bed, which dipped as he fit one bony knee onto the edge of it. Bruce leaned back instinctively into the pillows, his grip on the condoms tightening. The Joker slithered across the sheets, and Bruce’s breath rattled as a powerful hand came up to grip his knee. It quickly left though, the clown instead opting to run another finger down the length of Bruce’s cock. The hand loitered, pressing sharp fingertips into the wet fabric tucked behind his balls, sinking into his cavernous opening and making Bruce forget how to breathe despite the barrier of his underwear between him and those fingers.

He gasped, thrusting the roll of condoms into the gap between their bodies. Joker chuckled at the insistence.

His good hand came up to take the condoms (Bruce shuddered at the sudden loss of contact at his ass), but he pulled up short. The clown’s smile widened impossibly further.

“Oh, no, Batsy,” he crooned, pulling away. “Have you seen my… injury?” He rose up onto his knees, waggling his bandaged hand a little. “I seem to be down a paw – I don’t know if I’ll be able to get one of these babies on, you know. ...Not without help, at least.”

That last line was almost growled at him, and with Joker’s cock now sitting directly at eye-level (already leaking pre-cum, Bruce tried not to note), he had a fairly good grasp of what the clown was suggesting.

He gulped, his mouth feeling entirely too wet. There was a part of him, the part being controlled completely by Omega hormones he told himself, that urged him to do exactly what the Alpha before him was implying. And it’s not like it would be the first time. Memories from earlier, from down in the cave, skated across his mind – his lips wrapping around a pale erection and swooping down, down, down.

But even so, he pushed back. He’d always had a rebellious streak, and right now it gave him the strength to rip open one of the condom packets and roll the silicon tube down the Joker’s cock without ceremony, his eyes boring up into his partner’s green ones in a dark glare.

But Joker remained unfazed, instead letting out a short, sharp cackle and clutching at his belly.

“You’re too much, doll,” he said lazily, reaching out to play with the tips of Bruce’s hair. “Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily.”

Bruce glared up at him, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted it. With the Joker this close, his hole was almost aching with need, and his thighs felt slick despite his underwear soaking up most of his desire. He shifted, getting up on his knees and moving closer to Joker.

“What if I bit you?” he asked, voice coming out gruffer than he’d intended.

The clown simply grinned. “You won’t. If you hurt Mini-Me here, we’ll both be disappointed.”

Bruce thought back to the chest full of toys that was probably halfway across the room by now and cringed. And with that thought in his head, he leaned forward, breathing hotly on the Joker’s wrapped cock.

The Joker twitched, the head of his cock bobbing before Bruce’s eyes. Bruce glanced up, let the darkened green eyes slice into him, and opened his mouth, taking the entirety of the Joker into his mouth without breaking eye contact.

The clown had the decency to shudder as Bruce’s lips enveloped him. With how turned on Bruce was already, it didn’t take long for him to soak the Joker’s erection with saliva, and he began to bob in and out at a robust pace almost on auto-pilot.

White hands came up to wrap themselves in Bruce’s hair, taking full advantage of his lack of a mask. He could feel the bandages scraping against his skull. “Ohhh, Batsy. You’re too _good_ at this. Where _did_ you get the practice?”

Bruce ignored him, focusing on wrapping his tongue around Joker’s cock instead. The clown’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into Bruce’s scalp.

“You learn the ins and outs from that butler of yours that I always see on television?” he continued, wrapping his palm around the back of Bruce’s head and dictating his pace. “Or was it one of the boys?”

Bruce’s eyes widened at that and he bit down, earning a yelp from the other man. He was flung from the clown’s body and landed heavily on the bed, but by the time he glared back up at him, the Joker was already grinning. He hadn’t managed to draw blood.

“I meant when they were _older_ , Bats. Nightwing, for instance? Gee whiz, you’ve got a dirty mind.” He held his hands up in mock surrender, but his gaze was already cutting. “I think it’s time we had a change of pace, don’t you?”

He moved forward on the bed, gesturing vaguely. “On your knees, face the headboard.”

Despite the clown’s remarks, Bruce couldn’t deny he wanted this. _Needed_ this. His cock felt like it would explode if it didn’t get some attention soon, and his whole body trembled with pleasure at the other man’s order.

So he obeyed, turning reluctantly to assume the position. He kept his distance from the headboard, enough that he could grab it to hold himself steady or sink into the pillows depending on the Joker’s plans.

In seconds, his underwear had been pulled down to his knees, and a cold hand slapped painfully against his buttock. “Fuck you,” he growled in response, staring down into the pillows.

“Uh-huh,” the clown replied, soothing the painful area now with his palm. The hand reached down, pinching and squeezing as if he were sizing up a livestock purchase, and when Joker sank two fingers experimentally into his wet opening, Bruce’s suspicions were confirmed.

The touch undid him, the scrape of cold fingertips against his flushed, feverish insides drawing a low groan from his lips without his say-so. The Joker laughed. “Look at you! Moaning like a filthy animal in heat! Which I guess you are,” he said in a low voice, and Bruce could picture him raising his bandaged hand to his lips to deliver the aside.

“Now, that’s a thought.” Joker plunged the fingers deeper, rocking Bruce’s entire body forward. “If you were an animal, Batsy, which would you be? And you can’t say ‘bat’.”

Bruce keened again and finally sank forward into the pillows as a third finger was added, stretching him unnecessarily for the main event. He’d been ready for Joker’s cock before the man even escaped, his body deciding well ahead of time what it wanted.

“You really are stunning like this,” Joker continued, apparently happy to leave the last question rhetorical. “Spread out like a buffet. You’re like putty when you’re like this, huh? Omegas, I mean.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Bruce grit out.

“Oh, but I am surprised! I’ve always been very faithful to my Beta-licious Harley, you know. Except when I was pining after you, of course.”

Bruce scoffed as much as he could with a face full of pillow, and pressed back against Joker’s hand almost without realising it. His entire body was trembling with the force of his arousal, his cock straining up against his belly. He felt like he was drifting away, his head full of the smell of Alpha, the Joker’s voice the only thing still tethering him to reality.

“You smell so wonderful,” the clown crooned, as if reading his mind. And that was all the warning Bruce got before a wet mouth fastened itself over his hole.

Bruce gasped at the sensation, not knowing whether to shy away or press back into the touch as Joker’s tongue delved deep inside his ass. He could practically _feel_ the clown grinning as he lapped at him, and Bruce found his hips stuttering, his cock thrusting at thin air.

Joker’s thrusts weren’t particularly deep and his tongue wasn’t particularly thick, but with the shock of being entered by something so _warm_ and the weight of what felt like hours of foreplay behind it, before Bruce knew it, his cock went off like a rocket. He keened loudly as his orgasm punched through him unexpectedly, splashing cum across the sheets and rocking back into the Joker’s hungry mouth.

The clown giggled happily behind him as he reached up with his good hand to pump Bruce’s softening cock, just enough to milk him of the last few drops.

And then the pressure at his backside was gone, and the Joker was rolling him onto his back. The clown made a show of licking Bruce’s cum from his hand as he leaned over him, and Bruce could only gaze up, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

“Well, that was quick.”

Bruce snorted, his eyes narrowing. “Too bad for you.”

But Joker only grinned, wolfishly. “You’re not gonna tell me that was enough?” His fingers came up to fiddle with Bruce’s spent cock, and to his horror, he stirred to life again. His skin still felt hot and feverish, and with Joker’s cold hand rubbing against his flushed flesh, he shivered.

The clown’s grin widened, and he scooted up further, fitting his own erection firmly against Bruce’s. “Look at that stamina. You’d be a horse for sure. Or maybe a camel.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope,” said Joker, punctuating the word with a deep thrust of his cock. Bruce gasped, the friction too much for him in this state. The Joker was hovering low now, his breath hot against Bruce’s face, and he stiffened when he realised what the clown was about to do.

Joker didn’t hesitate. Full lips descended upon his own, and Bruce’s nostrils flared. Another shiver raced through him from the shock of it – of Joker _kissing_ him – but the clown chose that moment to wrap a hand around both their cocks, pumping them slowly and sending an answering warmth throughout Bruce’s body.

The scent of Alpha – and beneath it, the unmistakable smell of _Joker_ – flew up around him, assaulting Bruce’s senses. He felt a twitch deep inside him, and shuddered as a fresh wave of desire flooded his entrance. He melted into the pillows, almost going cross-eyed as he attempted to track the clown’s movements with their mouths still joined.

Joker’s kisses were deceptively soft at first, his tongue raking along Bruce’s in gentle, if insistent, exploration. But soon, the abundance of stimulation was too much for Bruce, and he moaned into the kiss despite himself.

Joker’s eyes flew open, green pinpricks boring into Bruce’s, and the kiss turned aggressive. The clown delved deep into his mouth, pushing Bruce down into the pillows and stealing his breath. He tried once more to fight back, to put up even a show of resistance, but truthfully, he wanted more. He lost the battle with himself, thrusting up into Joker’s palm and letting a deep groan escape into the clown’s mouth.

Without warning, the Joker’s presence disappeared, and Bruce’s world shifted. The clown’s injured arm hooked under Bruce’s knee, hauling his ass up onto his partner’s waiting thighs for better access.

Bruce’s breath hitched. This was happening. He was about to be devoured by an Alpha for the first time in _years_ and it was going to be the Joker that he submitted to. The clown arched above him, his pale face flushed. The remnants of his lipstick were smeared and pink, his hair in disarray.

The clown lined his cock up against Bruce’s slippery opening, teasingly pushing just the tip of himself inside.

“Tell me how much you want this.”

Bruce gusted out a breath, craning his neck against the pillows to meet Joker’s eyes. His heart was roaring in his ears now, his skin tingling with every touch of Joker’s fingers gripping his ass.

“I don’t want it,” he grunted, eyes narrowing. “I _need_ it.”

The Joker paused, his smile twitching. “I can’t tell if that’s more hot or less.”

“Just fuck me, Joker!”

The clown burst into giggles, pushing one frustrating inch deeper. “There he goes again. Flat on his back with his ass in the air and he’s _still_ giving out orders!”

“Joker. _Please_.”

And it shouldn’t have sounded so desperate, like he might just fall apart if everything stopped now, because Joker noticed. His pupils dilated, his breath rattling, and then he was plunging deeply into him, and Bruce felt it reverberate all the way up his spine.

He groaned raggedly as the Joker’s cock slid into him, sheathing itself to the hilt with ease. The Joker tilted forward as well, leaning into Bruce and savouring the moment, his face the picture of satisfaction.

But the clown didn’t make him wait long, pulling back until he was almost entirely unsheathed before slamming back into him. Joker’s pace was steady and his thrusts bottomless after that, until he shifted Bruce just slightly beneath him and hit a spot that had Bruce crying out in pleasure.

A strangled sound escaped Joker as well at that, and his thrusts turned frantic, though his aim remained true, punching into the bundle of nerves deep inside him and extracting noise after noise from Bruce’s lips.

His orgasm was building, for the third time that night, and he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Joker’s own breathing was scattered, his pace frenetic, and when he leaned forward to capture Bruce’s mouth once again, he knew the clown was close.

But the kiss sent Bruce over the edge, the combined pressure of Joker’s tongue and cock thrusting into him forcing a primal sound from deep within him.

He clamped down on Joker’s cock as he came, harder than before, spilling cum all over himself as the Joker sank into him one last time. Bruce could _feel_ the clown pulsing against his tightened walls as the clown climaxed.

For a few delirious seconds, Bruce cursed himself for insisting on the condom, missing the feeling of warm seed filling him. He wrapped his arms around Joker’s neck, deepening their kiss even as the clown went slack-jawed with pleasure.

They collapsed, the Joker’s weight feeling surprisingly familiar as he fell bonelessly on top of Bruce.

It took a while to convince Joker to detach himself from Bruce and go dispose of the condom in the bathroom. Even then, the clown was gone for so short a time that he expected the man hadn’t bothered to throw the thing anywhere but the floor.

But he struggled to care about that. For the first time in hours his fever had abated, and the smells around him were no longer cloying. He breathed deeply as he burrowed into the sheets, and the bed rolled violently beneath him when another body bellyflopped down beside him.

“You sure know how to give a guy a workout, doll,” Joker mumbled, and thin fingers slapped lightly against his exposed side.

He ignored the pat, focusing on his breathing and the feel of sheets sliding against his hyper-sensitive skin. The bone-deep satisfaction went further than just this heat – he hadn’t felt this satiated in _years_. Even what they’d done down in the Batcave didn’t compare. Joker towering over him, crushing him down into the bed and _taking_ from him – it was different. Better.

The fingers returned, gentler now, tickling down Bruce’s back. He froze at the touch, turning just enough to peer over his shoulder.

The clown was smiling, softer than usual, but his teeth flashed when he met Bruce’s eye.

“You know, I much prefer the cowl, but that face you made when you—” He made a jabbing motion with his fingers and accompanied it with an explosive sound. “ _That_ was perfection, Bats.”

Bruce scowled. He heard the clown shifting, and a thin, cool body pressed up against his back. He made a show of elbowing the man away, but Joker caught it easily, stroking his fingers along Bruce’s skin just this side of soothingly.

“Give it a rest, my dear. You know you’re gonna need another round soon just to keep yourself from going _completely_ batty, right? So at least let me have my beauty sleep.” A warm breath coasted along the edge of his ear. “That is, if you want me operating at optimal performance.”

Bruce hissed his annoyance, but relented, allowing the clown to spoon in behind him. Joker’s cock was soft against him now, showing no trace of his insistence from before.

And he couldn’t deny that this was… nice. Joker hadn’t stopped touching him despite his claimed need for sleep, and the delicate caresses that now trailed down his side and stomach were slowing lulling him to his own rest.

He fell asleep to the sound of Joker’s steady breathing, surrounded by the comforting aroma of an Alpha wrapped around him, and with an exhaustion that went bone-deep.

\---

Joker found himself thrown out on Batman’s doorstep (at one of the Batcave’s covert entrances rather than the front steps of Wayne Manor) three days later.

He’d kept the Batman from dissolving into a delirious ball of hormones for the entirety of that time, and in return, the vigilante had conceded to not throw him immediately back into Arkham. Joker thought he could have been paid a little more for services rendered, but chose not to complain.

For the information he’d gained during his stay was worth any punishment the Bat threw at him. And the orgasms had been a plus.

He walked the short distance back into Gotham with his hands in his pockets. The dislocated thumb would heal – Wayne had surprised him by insisting on treating it, during one of the clearer moments when his heat had backed off.

Joker’s head still reeled with the de-facing of his Bat, but the mask underneath wasn’t all that bad to look at, he supposed.

When he arrived back at the abandoned joke shop he and Harley had been hiding out in for the last few months, he kicked the door in, a spring in his step.

Bud and Lou exploded into a series of chitters and barks, rocketing up from beside the couch in the centre of the room to meet him. Harley sat sprawled across it, a tub of ice cream resting on her belly that was very nearly upended onto the floor when she sat up to stare.

“Puddin’!” she screeched, her happy cries joining the cacophony of the two hyenas jumping up to lick at Joker’s face.

“Harley!” He let her throw her arms around him.

“Aw, Puddin’, where ya been? Me and the babies missed you!” She pulled back sharply, breathing deeply. “And pee-yew – you smell amazing!”

Bats had insisted that Joker bathe before he left. To cover up the distinctive mix of smells that was both Batman and Omega, he assumed.

Joker laughed. “That I do, my dear.”

“Last I saw you was on bonfire night! You disappeared.” She pouted, but her eyes glinted dangerously.

“Like a fart in the wind, huh? I was told you and me had a fight.”

Harley blinked up at him, confusion evident. “We did?”

“Did we?”

“Well, I dunno.” She poked a finger into her lip, eyes roaming over the ceiling as she pretended to think. “I’m sure we’d remember! …You were with the Batman, weren’t ya?” Her tone skated low – not accusing – but with a dark, amused edge.

Joker’s smile twitched. “That’s for me to know, little Harlequin.”

“Hah, sure. Why’d he kidnap you anyway?”

Joker paused, thinking back. Why had the Batman captured him? His brows furrowed.

He… He still didn’t actually know, did he?

A laugh bubbled up from Joker’s stomach, wracking his thin frame. After a moment of surprise, Harley and the babies joined in, and their laughter poked through the walls and the windows into the Gotham night. Joker hoped Batman could hear it – all the way over the river, in the rich countryside that framed Gotham, in a huge bat-filled cave, beneath an even huger manor.

Tears of mirth filled Joker’s eyes. Oh, he was going to have a lot of fun from now on, wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it took me a year to write a porn. I may add a sequel one day with B and J's roles reversed (but not their Alpha/Omega status, because what are the use of A/B/O rules if we can't break them?).


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